There and Back Again
by WalkerOfSky
Summary: In his last moments, Anakin Skywalker comes to a sudden realisation of his actions, and returns to the light. Although the Galaxy has fallen, and the Sith have finally conquered, the coming events will change the lives of the Galaxy forever.
1. Prologue

**There and Back Again**

**Prologue  
****  
**

"_What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise."_

_Oscar Wilde._

_**_

Fire. It was all he saw, all he felt. Fire in his skin, in his blood, in his eyes. As the flames licked at his skin, scorching and searing, he heard the distant sob of a former brother. Though immersed in darkness, he felt the unimaginable guilt and helplessness of the man responsible for his impending doom. The fire grew stronger, the heat unbearable.

He screamed.

Not for the pain, but for the realisation that he was wrong. So wrong. It wasn't meant to end like this; in fact... it wasn't meant to even begin how it had. Why didn't he just listen? Why didn't he just stay where he was told, like the good little Jedi the masters had so long strived to bring out in him. He sensed the anguish of his former master disappear, not because he didn't care, but because he was leaving. This time an hour ago, he would have been furious, he would have been blinded with anger at such actions of cruelty, that the man he came to know as brother would leave him as if he hadn't a care in the world.

But that was a different time.

This was his punishment, and he would have been deeply shocked if Obi Wan had returned and helped him. He'd destroyed the order, destroyed peace, justice and freedom for so many. And all to save her. A fruitless attempt, it seemed, because even if she survived his cold blooded attack, there wasn't a chance in the galaxy that his angel would forgive him. Not a chance at all.

It was over. He had lost. He hoped beyond hope that in his last moments of life the Force would in some miraculous act of compassion, forgive him. He didn't deserve forgiveness, no one who had committed such crimes did. So why was he asking for it? Did he in some way expect the Force to forgive him? No. He didn't. What was done, was done. He was paying for his sins with his life. Nothing could stop that now. Nothing. He allowed himself a quiet chuckle at the irony of it. Nothing could stop death, he knew that now. It was too late, yes, but at least he finally understood it. The pain was lessening a little. The flames were gone. He wasn't sure whether his eyes were open or not, it didn't matter. Darkness was all that he saw, darkness was all that he knew.

There was no hope for this young man.

'_There is always hope'_.

Was it real? Or was the voice of reason finally breaking through the shroud of darkness he thought had consumed him.

'_There is always hope'._

Ha! Hope. What is hope? A silly, four letter word with no real meaning. There is no hope. No hope for anyone. In the end, the darkness always wins. It's always there, no matter what good we try to achieve. It's always there.

'_There is still hope'._

You lie! There is no hope. If there was a shred of hope left in the galaxy, we would not be bowing to the very heart of evil itself right now.

'_There is still hope'._

The pain was gone now. It seemed strange, but wherever that voice was coming from, be it from him, or from the Force itself, it had overcome the pain. The voice was all he registered. The pain was nothing.

Hope. What hope did he truly have. If by some crazy act of recklessness he did indeed try to take hold of that hope, he wouldn't get far.

But maybe, just maybe if he tried.

Gingerly, the burnt and broken body of a former hero began to move. The one hand that still remained, the artificial hand, clawed its way up the ashy riverside. The charred remains of his legs pushing the battered torso further away from the fiery river and towards what seemed an unreachable goal.

The pain returned. He felt as though the flames had returned, stinging and scorching through his skin.

He ignored it.

His breathing was harsh, and laboured, every breath sent white hot needles of pain to his lungs and throat.

He ignored it.

His eyes watered and bled, ash sticking his lids together, cementing them shut, blinding him for eternity.

He ignored it.

He could sense a dark cloud approaching, but he still had time. The cloud was beckoning him, teasing him and taunting him, trying to draw him back into its cold grasp.

He ignored it.

Light. Blinding, white light pierced his soul. From it he drew strength, he drew determination and he drew hope.

He didn't ignore it.

His arm worked of its own accord now, pulling him further and further away from the molten river, and closer to a lone starfighter perched precariously on a crumbling platform.

Harder and harder it clawed, dragging without hesitation, desperate to reach its goal. The dark cloud was nearing, but only in body. In mind and in soul, it couldn't have been further from this troubled young man.

The starfighter was close now. He could sense it. Still in perfect working condition. How he managed to climb into the cockpit, the young man would never know. In some way, he liked to think the Force was on his side that day. He liked to think the force was beginning to forgive him. As the broken body engaged the ship, using what little Force energy he could muster, the Jedi starfighter took off, and quickly slipped away from the fiery volcanic world.

Anakin Skywalker passed out, as the momentous duel finally took its toll on the young Jedi's mind, body and soul.

Yes... Jedi. He wasn't a Sith. Never. Not again. And though he didn't see himself worthy as to call himself a Jedi, he was. It was his dream, after all.

* * *

_A/N: This is a re-write of a previous story posted on here a very long time ago under a different pen name. I hope you all enjoy what I have created, and all constructive feedback is more than welcome._

_WalkerOfSky._


	2. The Whill of the Force

**There and Back Again**

**Chapter 1**

**_The Whill of the Force_**

_Millennia before the Rise of the Empire.._

"...and in the time of greatest despair, there shall come a saviour. And he shall be known as, the Son of the Suns."

The stone circular room shook violently, small pieces of rock falling from the high ceiling and littering the polished floor below. The occupants of the room glanced at each other warily, before looking to their leader, the man who had just spoken.

"What does this mean, Altair?" asked a tall, stately looking woman, with jet black hair and sparkling green eyes.

The man who had spoken, looked to his peers. He too, bore emerald green eyes and midnight black hair, his face littered with wrinkles, yet he seemed timeless.

"Our last prophet reported this," he started, glancing at the quiet young man to his left, "It speaks of our saviour."

Picking up the scroll, Altair stood before his council, and air of importance radiating from him.

"We must protect this Chosen One."

"Has he even been born?" asked a quiet female voice, a girl cloaked in midnight blue who sat to the left of Altair. Altair shook his head slowly.

"I do not believe so. We.. we must take the vow."

Collective murmurs rang through the small room, the six occupants glancing worriedly from one to another.

"The time of the Whills is ending, we must save what is left, the greatest of us all," Altair continued, "We must take the vow of longevity, through this, we can achieve immortality, like my father," Altair paused for a moment, glancing at his fellows.

"We will remain hidden, for many a Millennia. The Journal will be passed on to only the wisest, to our brethren, the Jedi. Their time is coming, the Jedi will replace the Whills as protectors of the Galaxy, we must be there when we are needed most."

The people in the room all nodded simultaneously. The room shook again, the sound of war raging above them.

"Anira, my child," Altair called the girl in the midnight blue cloak over to him, as the rest of the occupants filed out of the room.

"Yes father?" Anira replied quietly. Altair placed his hands on her shoulders, smiling warmly.

"You will be hidden further than us all. You will not wake, until the last day of peace reaches us," Altair paused, searching his daughters eyes, "The day... the beginning of the final fall, that is when you will be needed."

Anira nodded silently, knowing whatever her father had in store for her, it was meant to be. She quickly left the room, leaving Altair alone with his thoughts. A small tear escaped his eyes as he watched her leave. Something told him, he had just sent his beloved daughter to her death.

**

_The Journal of the Whills – 3:128_

_I write not like before, this is not a recording, but it is my thoughts._

_My father has spoken, and the Whills will live on, unknowing to the Galaxy, the torch is passed to the Jedi._

_I will disappear now. I shall return when the Dark One arises. He is not what you think, please, take heed._

**

_There she is, my angel. She is so...beautiful. In fact, beautiful is an understatement. There are no words. My angel. My life, my light...and now she is gone._

Anakin slowly opened his eyes, squinting as they adjusted to the bright light hovering above him.

_Wait...I can see?_

He could make out distant whispers, and the hazy forms of several short, thin beings. He groaned, and closed his eyes, as memories began to flood his mind, taunting him, destroying him.

'_But there is still hope.'_

Why did they keep saying that... why did he keep saying that? What hope was there? His angel was gone; she was the only hope he had. She was gone.

He felt long, dexterous fingers moving lightly over his body. The pain was gone, replaced by a dull ache coursing through his veins.

He opened his eyes again, desperately trying to focus his vision, to find out what the hell was going on. He should be dead, or dying at least.

As his focus began to return, he frowned at the beings hovering above him. Short, thin creatures, with white, featureless faces and small, beady black eyes. They made no noise as they worked, so where had the whispers come from?

Anakin gingerly turned his head, and noticed two other beings standing just inside the doorway. One, a tall, hairy beast; a wookie, the other, a small, dark haired boy, no more than nine or ten years old.

_I dont even want to know what is going on here..._

He closed his eyes again, and slowly drifted back into unconsciousness.

**

His eyes flickered open again, and this time, he could see perfectly. He glanced around the room. Small, white, sterile looking. A medical room no doubt, he'd become quite used to those during the war. The dull ache had lessened now, thankfully, however he felt that if he moved it would return quickly. He raised his hands, and gingerly ran them through his hair.

_Wait...hands...hair!_

Anakin shot up, ignoring the returning ache, his head turning wildly from left, to right. He glanced down. A smooth, defined torso, his skin a golden bronze. His arms were intact, the muscles honed from years of training as a Jedi bulging. He threw back the covers, only to discover a pair of perfectly unharmed legs.

_What in the name of all that is good...?_

"Hello!" he called.

As if on cue, two of the thin humanoids entered the room, carrying data pads and various utensils. Anakin shrank back into his pillow, suddenly afraid.

"What's going on!?" he demanded. The humanoids, Kallidahin workers he recognised from his many galactic travels, seemed to glance at him, and then turned back to their examination of his newly repaired injuries.

"Answer me!" he roared, noting the rawness of his voice. The Kallidahin's continued to ignore him.

"They're mute," sounded a voice from the doorway. Anakin glanced up, and saw a tall, balding man, dressed in a white lab coat.

"What's going on?" Anakin repeated, his voice shaking slightly.

"I am Doctor Wyn, you're very lucky to be alive young man," continued the doctor, offering a warm smile as he entered the room.

"I..don't understand...what.." Anakin's head spun, trying to make sense of what was happening.

"You've been out cold for about six month's son, we weren't sure if you'd make it," explained Wyn, moving closer to Anakin, and checking his vitals.

"But, you seem to be in excellent health, the surgery was a complete success," announced Wyn with a smile.

"S..surgery...six months...what," Anakin felt dizzy, and leaned back against the pillow. Wyn looked at Anakin with a sympathetic air.

"Six months ago, a young boy and a wookiee brought you in. You'd suffered ninety percent burns to your body, and lost both your legs and your left arm. The internal injuries were far more severe. Your lungs, heart, vocal cords, vision...they were all damaged. We feared they were irreparable, until young Han suggested cloning," explained Wyn with a small smile. Anakin inhaled sharply.

"I...Im a clone!?" he breathed, his stomach rolling. Wyn's eyes widened and he shook his head quickly.

"Goodness no...no of course not, I would never condone such an inhumane action, no. We cloned the organs and body parts you needed from what was left of the undamaged tissue, speeding up the growth process and finally replacing them. It took the best part of around five months to do so, but it worked extremely well, as you can see," smiled Wyn. Anakin nodded slowly.

"Who is Han?" he asked quietly. Wyn smiled, and then left the room. He returned a few moments later, with the young boy, and the wookiee.

"This is Han Solo, and his friend and guardian, Chewbacca," introduced Wyn. Anakin smiled at the young boy, who returned the smile confidently.

"How..how did you?'

'We saw your ship," started Han, "Chewie here said it was a Jedi starfighter, he said something was wrong, so we...uhh...decided to...help."

Chewie roared happily in agreement. Anakin glanced at the doctor, who nodded.

"I...thank you...but...I'd like to be alone right now," responded Anakin quietly. Wyn nodded, and ushered Han and Chewbacca out of the room. Anakin took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

What the Sith was going on here? The last he remembered, he was slowly but surely burning to death. Anakin squeezed his eyes, as flashing images began to bombard his mind. He remembered crawling, dragging himself away from the searing heat that threatened to consume him. He remembered the suffocating darkness beginning to take hold again. Then he remembered the light. The blinding, white light. That light, it felt so familiar, so comforting. Was it the Force? Was this the Forces way of forgiving him...of giving him a second chance?

No. _This_ was his punishment. He was beginning to understand now. It was so obvious. He was to live out the remainder of his days with the mind numbing guilt of what he had done, what he had caused. Death would be the easy way; he would welcome death with open arms. No. This was his punishment. He'd killed so many, and now, he was condemned to live his life alone, without his angel, knowing he had killed her and their unborn child.

There was no hope after all.

This is it. This is his life now. Whole in body, but battered and broken in soul. And he deserved it, he deserved it all. He deserved to live out the remainder of his days in pain and suffering. And so he would.

As Anakin drifted off into sleep, his thoughts drifted to all those he held dear. His mother, so cruelly taken from him. His brother, and master, Obi Wan, the man who had believed in him no matter what. His child, who would never know the joys of life. And his angel...his angel who he himself had killed in his blindness to see what was really good in the galaxy. His beautiful, delicate ray of light, his one and only love. He was to live his life without them all. He didn't dare to complain, or protest.

He deserved it all.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews of the previous chapter, I'm very glad you all seemed to like the opening to the story. As I don't have room to add to the summary, I will explain that this is an AU story set right after the events of ROTS, and thank you to **Freedom Tide** for making me aware of the confusion, I hope this clears things up. Please, enjoy._

_WalkerOfSky._


	3. Six Years Gone

**There and Back Again**

**Chapter 2**

**_Six Years Gone_**

'_...And as the purges continue, we are at a constant reminder of the events not six years ago, when the once proud and well respected Jedi Order seemingly turned against the Republic, attempting to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor, and take control of the Republic. We still urge anyone with information on the whereabouts of any surviving Jedi to contact their nearest imperial officer, we ensure anonymity of all informants, and a hefty reward for all information leading to the capture of these traitorous..'_

"Turn that off Solo."

"Yeah boss, sickens me too," grimaced Han, flicking off the holo news report. Han glanced at his boss, noting his sudden change in posture. But then again, Jett had always been like that whenever the imps were mentioned; he seemed to hate them more than anyone. Han narrowed his eyes, deciding whether or not to press the issue further.

"Hey boss?"

"Yeah?"

"What is it about the imps that get's you so....rattled?"

Jett stiffened at the question, but continued fiddling with the broken machinery in front of them.

"The same reason as everybody else, Solo," he replied, hoping to sound nonchalant. Han quirked a dark eyebrow, but decided to relent, at least for now.

In the six years Han had been in Jett's employ, they had, in Han's opinion, grown quite close. Jett was like the father Han had never known, and although Chewie had been a great guardian, raising him since he was three, Han related to Jett more. Jett was a mystery, that's probably why Han liked him so much. Han knew nothing of Jett's past, and, while he was curious, it didn't affect him as much as he thought it would; Han still trusted Jett with his life.

They made a great team, and were renowned as the best smugglers in the galaxy. And indeed they were. They had made a fortune in the illegal line of work. It was their way of rebelling against the tyranny of the empire. Whilst they weren't doing anything to stop the empire, they were showing where their true loyalties lay, anywhere but with the emperor. Han smiled at this thought, of all the times he and Jett had had. They made a great team; one he hoped wouldn't end anytime soon.

**

"Luke...Leia....dinner!"

A petite young woman, perhaps in her early thirties, turned away from the back door, and headed back inside the quaint little cottage that she called home. She hadn't aged a day, which was surprising, considering all she had been through in her short life. Her dark chestnut curls still cascaded down her back, framing her delicate face perfectly. She still held an air of royalty, inherited from her days as Queen. Yet her clothing had changed drastically. Gone were the bulky senatorial gowns, replaced by plainer dresses and tunics. But she still looked as beautiful as ever.

"Padmé, Ben is back," sounded Dormé, Padmé's most trusted handmaiden and friend.

"It's about time," she smiled, heading towards the front entrance of her home. She opened the door, and was greeted by a lively pair of blue-grey eyes.

"Mi lady," smiled Obi Wan, bowing. Padmé rolled her eyes, and pulled her old friend into an embrace. He, like herself, hadn't seemed to have aged a day. He did have a couple more wrinkles than last time she saw him, and his reddish-blonde hair was flecked with several streaks of grey, but all in all, Obi Wan Kenobi was still a healthy young Jedi in the prime of life.

"I'll have none of that mi lady nonsense, come on in, dinners ready," smiled Padmé, stepping to the side as Ben entered.

"Uncle Ben! Uncle Ben!"

Ben grinned as two small children came bounding into the hallway, launching themselves at him.

One of them, a small boy, with sandy blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, and the other, a girl, slightly smaller than her brother, with waves of chocolate brown locks, and perfectly matching eyes. His breath caught in his throat slightly, as it always did when he saw the twins.

"Hello younglings, miss me?" chuckled Ben, as the twins proceeded to plant kisses all over his bearded face.

"Course we did Uncle Ben," started Leia, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Luke remained silent, the quieter of the two, and stared up at his idol with unwavering awe.

"Come on you two, dinner," sounded Padmé, ushering the twins into the dining area. The twins raced off to the table, as always, blissfully unaware of the seriousness of the lives they now lead.

**

Han glanced over the data pad, scanning the information carefully. The job was a tricky one, but if pulled off, would probably set him and Jett up for life.

"Boss, wha' d'ya think?" he asked, turning his attention to the tall, golden haired man now conversing with a stout, pig like creature. Jett excused himself, and strolled over to Han.

"Looks good, I think we can pull it off," smiled Jett confidently.

"Yeah, the credits aren't too bad either," chuckled Han. Jett smiled warmly at his young friend, and then glanced around.

"They say the weapon's we're carrying are for the rebellion, apparently a Bail Organa is desperate for pilots," he whispered, ensuring he wouldn't be heard. Han's eyes narrowed at the prospect.

"I thought the rebellion was nowhere near forming, Jagged told me all there was, was random resistance cells," questioned Han. Jett shook his head.

"From what I've heard, Organa, Mothma and Bel Iblis signed some treaty, and now they're moving to a base on Yavin IV," explained Jett. Han nodded in understanding.

"So, does that mean we're joining the rebellion?" he asked. Jett pondered his question for a moment.

"No, we're helping out...once we're on Yavin...well...we'll see what the force has in store for us," replied Jett cryptically. Han rolled his eyes, all too familiar with Jett's unwavering faith in a hokey, extinct religion.

"Sure boss, whatever you think," he grinned, "I'll get Chewie to start loading now."

Han mock saluted Jett, and then hurried over to Chewie. Jett chuckled lightly, before his expression became much more serious.

The rebellion would surely recognise him as soon as he landed. He'd known Bail for years; did they know what he did? Did they know the reason the empire was now in control was because of him?

"It's my punishment," he reminded himself, "It's the least I deserve."

**

The Coruscant skyline hadn't changed much in the six years of Imperial rule. The senate building was still intact, great towering buildings still stretched towards the heavens, the lower levels still beheld seedy clubs and strange beings. Only one thing had changed. The Jedi Temple was once the most prominent building on all of Coruscant, dominating the skyline, a symbol of peace, hope, and freedom. But now, a new building rose even higher. The Imperial Palace.

Composed of thousands of monumental spires, stretching higher than any building on Coruscant, the monstrous green-grey building stood for all that was wrong in the galaxy, the downfall of the Jedi, the oppression of the Sith, and the iron rule of Darth Sidious. The Jedi Temple still lay in ruins after the attack, no one had bothered to repair or demolish it. It lay forgotten, crumbling away as the shroud of the dark side grew steadily larger and penetrated further into the hearts and souls of the citizens of the galaxy.

From the tallest spire, a scarred, ageing man, robed in black velvet, gazed at the ruins of the once proud temple. A satisfied smile crossed his face at the memory of that night, and, although things had not gone exactly how he planned they would, he had won, nonetheless. The Jedi were all but extinct, and Sidious ruled the entire galaxy. He didn't need Anakin Skywalker to accomplish such deeds, in fact, it was probably better that he was dead. Sidious didn't fear betrayal from his young protégée; nothing could stand in his way. Nothing, except the rebellion.

The smiled disappeared, replaced by white hot rage.

How dare they! How dare they assume a pitiful alliance could destabilize years of painstaking planning and hard work. It was an insult! Their pathetic cause would not last long, no. He would destroy the snivelling traitors before they even got a chance to act. He would make sure of it. Nothing could stop him.

"Not even the rebellion," he smirked.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you very much for the reviews of the previous chapter. I'm glad you all seemed to enjoy it, and hope you enjoy this next chapter just as much._

_WalkerOfSky._


	4. Dreams

**There and Back Again**

**Chapter 3**

**_Dreams_**

_He ascended the great stone steps, the light breeze causing his dark robes to billow out in his wake. Behind him, the footfalls of thousands of clones, perfectly in synch with each other, sounded ominously, and echoed in the great temple hall. _

_The frightened screams and desperate calls of his enemies surrounded him. The sound of blaster fire and the hum of lightsabers joined the cries of dying Jedi. He didn't care, they had betrayed the Republic, and they had betrayed him. They deserved this fate...._

Jett shot up from the small cot in the Millennium Falcon. He felt his whole body shaking. He closed his eyes, forcing the torturing images from his mind.

"Boss...you alright?" sounded a groggy Han.

"Im fine Han, go back to sleep," replied Jett. Han didn't need telling twice, and quickly fell back into a peaceful slumber. Jett raked his hands through his golden curls and sighed. He hadn't known a peaceful sleep in almost six years, and had quickly gotten used to it. He slowly rose from his cot, pulling on a dark blue sleep robe, and padding out towards the cockpit.

They'd been in hyperspace for about six hours now, another two, and they would be entering the Yavin system. Luckily, the trip had been an uneventful one, just as Jett had foreseen. The cargo they held was a suspicious one; it wasn't everyday three smugglers transported weaponry such as that they held. Jett chuckled at the irony of it. Organa and Mothma had for years protested the use of 'aggressive negotiations' against the separatists, and now, they were ordering masses of weaponry and technology indicating towards a planned battle.

"Ironic indeed," he mumbled. Glancing out of the viewing window, Jett noticed a particularly bright star, winking in his direction.

_I wanna be the first one to see 'em all...._

"I never did get to see them all Qui Gon...I doubt I ever will," mused Jett sadly. He checked their course once more, and then padded back to the small cabin out back, hoping he would at least get a little rest.

Had he stayed, he would have undoubtedly witnessed the smiling ethereal form of an old Jedi master, gazing proudly at where he had been standing.

**

"I think you wore them out," chuckled Padmé, as she entered the small, cosy living room. Ben laughed, and pulled his arm tighter around Dormé, massaging her ever growing abdomen.

"They certainly wore me out," he grinned, standing up and crossing the room to stoke the fire. Padmé sat opposite the couple, and sighed. Of course, she had been thrilled when Obi Wan and Dormé confessed their feelings for one another, but a part of her still harboured jealousy that what they had was something she would most likely never feel again. She had learned years ago that she would never love again. She couldn't. Not after Anakin. Even though he had betrayed her, had destroyed her life, almost claimed it, she knew she would never love anyone as strongly as she had loved him. Padmé had long ago resigned herself to a life of solitude, her only love being for her children and close friends.

"So, how was your trip?" asked Padmé, forcing the image of her deceased husband from her mind. Ben retreated back to his seat, and began.

"I contacted Bail; he says the move to Yavin IV is going exceptionally well. The empire has not discovered our location. Right now, Bail is trying to locate as many pilots as possible, it is his first priority."

"And the Jedi? Have any been found?" asked Padmé. Ben shook his head sadly.

"Im afraid right now it seems there is only me and master Yoda left, though im sure there are others, well hidden," he added with slight hope.

"Lets us pray there is," chided Dormé.

"So, where does that leave us?" continued Padmé.

"Bail has suggested I move you all to the base," replied Ben tentatively. Padmé sighed warily.

"I dont know Ben, I dont want my children put in any danger, and I'm sure you dont want Dormé involved in anything that could harm the baby," started Padmé.

"I understand, but I assure you Yavin is quite safe, and I would feel a lot better if you were all close at hand," explained Ben. Padmé bit her lip, but knew there was no point in protesting.

"I suppose you're right, the children will be better protected there...Agamar is simply too remote, there would be no one to help us should we need it," sighed Padmé. Dormé nodded in agreement, but still looked sceptical herself. Ben noticed this, and took her hands in his own.

"I promise you," he looked at Padmé, "both of you; I will protect you with my last breath. You're all my family and I would rather die than see any of you come to harm."

Dormé felt a warm tears slowly slip down her cheek at his obvious adoration for them all. Padmé herself felt tears threatening to make themselves known, and swallowed loudly.

"Thank you Ben, I know...I know Anakin would be very grateful for this," she whispered.

Although Padmé knew exactly what had gone down that day on Mustafar, she understood completely why Ben did what he did. Though at first she had been horrified at the thought of Obi Wan leaving Anakin to suffer like he did, she also understood how hard it must have been for Obi Wan that day, and knew that his love for Anakin got the better of him. She could see the guilt Ben still bore in his eyes, and it was that that had enabled her to forgive him. He was right; Anakin was too dangerous to be kept alive. Yet a part of her, small, and buried deep down, still believed there was good in him. But that meant nothing now.

"So, when do we leave?" she finally asked.

"Tomorrow, it won't take long to pack, and Artoo will make quick work of readying the ship," replied Ben. Padmé nodded. Tomorrow, the rebellion began.

**

On the misty planet of Dagobah, amongst the towering trees and muddy swamps, sat a small hut, looking quite out of place in such a strange world.

Inside this hut, a tiny green alien, and a tall ageing man with jet black hair sat in deep conversation, worried looks marring their features.

"We have all felt it, the elder council believes it is time to act," the tall man urged, setting down a steaming cup, "He is alive, no one can dispute that."

The small green alien brought a three clawed hand to his head, his face etched with weariness.

"Much darkness, I still sense. Confused, the Chosen One is, find him and face his fears, he must."

The tall man nodded in agreement.

"I have heard the whispers of the Rebellion, the fall to darkness has already begun," he closed his eyes momentarily, "They do not know."

Yoda eyed the tall man strangely, not knowing of what he spoke.

"A day of peace, I sense. This darkness... what is it you sense?"

The tall man glanced out of the hut window, to the starry sky above. He was bound by the journal never to reveal the future, to simply let it run its course. But he could not sit back and watch the Galaxy fall.

He had to break the code.

"If Anakin Skywalker lives, this Galaxy is doomed."

**

Jett carefully guided the Falcon into the large, busy hangar bay. To his right, Han had already gotten up, and prepared himself and Chewie to unload the cargo. Jett took several deep, calming breaths; quickly realising his time of discovery was upon him. He shut down the Falcon, and rose from his seat, his nerves beginning to get the better of him. He pulled on a large robe, pulling the hood low over his face, hoping it would disguise him enough to ward off any initial recognition.

Han eyed his boss with confusion. He never normally covered his face, you could barely see him. Thinking maybe Jett wasn't comfortable with having the rebellion know his identity; he quickly dismissed it, and began carrying the heavy boxes filled with blasters and various other weaponry from the ship.

"Solo, is that you?" called a dark haired man dressed in an orange flight suit.

"Wedge, boy am I glad to see you," grinned Han, setting down the boxes and embracing his old friend.

"How ya bin buddy, why I aint seen you since that business back on Ord Mantell," chuckled Wedge.

"Well, you know me, always on the move," beamed Han, "so, you're working for the rebellion now?"

"Yeah, dad is old friends with Organa, he got us jobs straight away," smiled Wedge proudly, "what about you, what're you doin' here?"

"Shipment. Apparently Organa needed a big order of weapons and other junk," explained Han, "I'm here with Jett."

"Good, I aint seen him in awhile too, it'll be good to have some familiar faces around here," grinned Wedge.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, I dont think boss is too keen to stay here to long," sighed Han.

"That's too bad, maybe dad can change his mind," replied Wedge brightly.

"Maybe," mused Han. He spotted Jett descending the ramp, pulling his robe tighter around him.

Jett surveyed his surroundings, quite impressed. The alliance seemed to have acquired quite a following in such a short time. He recognised several of the pilots, having worked with them in the clone wars; luckily, they didn't seem interested in the hooded stranger.

"Hey boss, look who it is!" called Han. Jett smiled, and strode towards Han and Wedge.

"Hey Darklighter, long time no see," boomed Wedge. Jett held out his hand, smiling.

"Good to see you too Antilles, is your dad around?"

"Yeah, he's over there," replied Wedge, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Jett nodded, and excused himself, striding towards an ageing yet powerful looking man.

"Antilles," growled Jett, smirking. Jagged turned, and grinned.

"Skywalker," he nodded quietly.

"Since when did you get in with rebels?" questioned Jett.

"Since I realised it was time to take down the imps," laughed Jagged. Jett shook his head, and pulled his old friend into an embrace.

"It's good to see you," he said gruffly.

"Good to see you too, I was beginning to think you weren't gonna show," smirked Jagged. Jett glanced around, and then moved closer.

"Do they know, who I am I mean," he whispered.

"Not a clue," replied Jagged, "I guess you dont want 'em to know either, judging by the size of that hood," chuckled Jagged.

"Now isn't the time, these people might not be as understanding as you have been my old friend," smiled Jett. Jagged nodded in understanding.

"Still, Im sure it would boost morale if the pilots knew the great Anakin Skywalker was in their midst," grinned Jagged. Anakin shook his head, chuckling.

"I wish that were so Jagged, I wish that were so."

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for all the reviews on the last chapter. Hopefully after Christmas I'll be able to respond to each review personally, I just haven't had the time. This is the last post before Christmas also, so I would like you wish you all a very Happy Christmas and New Year, and I shall post again in 2010!_

_WalkerOfSky._


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